You were stretched out on a lounger, sunglasses perched on your nose, belly exposed and glowing under the late morning sun. Your book rested half-forgotten on your stomach as your fingers lazily rubbed a spot where the baby had just kicked. Peace. Sun. Serenity.

Until—

“You good?” you called out, glancing over your shades to see Blaise still lounging with a drink in hand, not-so-subtly glaring at someone across the resort’s pool.

He didn’t answer at first. Just narrowed his eyes a little more.

“Blaise,” you warned.

“Some bloke was looking a little too long,” he muttered, clearly unimpressed. “And yeah, I know you’re stunning, Ma—” his voice got louder now, intentional, “—but if he keeps gawking, I swear I’ll throw his sunglasses into the sea. Then see how long he wants to stare.”

You groaned, biting back a smile. “He wasn’t even—”

“His eyes were right here.” Blaise pointed to the slope of your stomach with dramatic flair. “That’s my baby bump, sweetheart. He can buy his own.”

Before you could sass him back, he got up, strolled over, and settled beside you like nothing happened, his hand sliding up your thigh like it belonged there (which it did). You watched him, amused.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re so hot,” he replied without hesitation. “That combination makes me territorial.”

He rubbed a hand over your bump and leaned down to kiss it. “Don’t worry, little one. Daddy’s got eyes everywhere.”

You rolled your eyes. “They’re gonna be so chill with a father like you.”

He looked smug. “With a mum like you? They’re already royalty.”

You snorted. “You’re obsessed.”

“And proud.” He shrugged. “Deadly combo.”